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Dept. of Listicles
Remembering Mum, & Panicking Over Babysitting
It's truly a sign of my ability to forget; back on the 27th, I got a text from my brother, reminding me that it's been nine years since Mum died. I'd completely forgotten. I haven't forgotten her; I think about her many times a week, and hope, quite irrationally, that she's healthy and whole somewhere, occasionally keeping an eye on me and on my brother, and, just as occasionally, lending us strength when we need it. But I forgot the date and day she died. It's been almost a decade, but still ... my brother remembers every year. Perhaps that makes sense, since he spent so much more time with her during her life, especially in her final decade. He shouldered her burdens, and watched over her; that has to burn one's love right into the bone. No wonder he doesn't forget.
I'm trying to decide if it's worth putting together at least a superficial review of Power of the Doctor, free of some of the immediate raegOMG that I spewed in my last post. There was, for me, a lot to like about the episode, despite my sorrow at seeing Jodie and Thirteen say goodbye; there were also a few things to roll my eyes at. We shall see.
I'm awaiting our grandson, who we're supposed to babysit tomorrow while Mom and Dad are at a wedding (the final member of Andy's band is finally getting married. I don't know whether Andy's a groomsman, but that's a big possibility.) I've bought fresh fruit and green beans and little carrots, all the kinds of things I think Harlan likes, plus juice with no added sugar. These all meet with his dad's approval, as does the possibility of a PBJ sandwich made with fresh homemade bread. I'm washing livingroom blankets, and trying desperately to remember what it was like to have a 15-month-old kid on my hands. This is ... well, I'm not panicking. Yet. Have I mentioned that Bob was the main caregiver when Andy was a wee tyke? And that I was not Mother of the Year? I probably have. We'll have him for about nine hours, and although Andy confidently says he'll nap 1-2 hours of that, I am laughing silently, because, no, not in a strange place, he won't. Laughing silently is a nice change from screaming silently.
I've put two cranberry-orange loaves into the oven, and I hope to sample the wares later tonight. Right now, tough, it's a nice couple of fingers of Suntory Toki whisky. (Since I don't have a whisky icon, the martini icon is perfectly fine.) It's been a long day.
Oh, and I know what I'm going to write about for NaNoWriMo. I have no outline, no plan, but I know who I'm going to write about. That's better than nothing. Not as good as last year, but still ... I'm using the characters I wrote about in my novella, so I know them, and I know their relationship. I know the difficulty they have with their abilities - yes, magic, but it's pretty ... Chicagoan - and I think I know what they're going to be facing in this novel.
It's truly a sign of my ability to forget; back on the 27th, I got a text from my brother, reminding me that it's been nine years since Mum died. I'd completely forgotten. I haven't forgotten her; I think about her many times a week, and hope, quite irrationally, that she's healthy and whole somewhere, occasionally keeping an eye on me and on my brother, and, just as occasionally, lending us strength when we need it. But I forgot the date and day she died. It's been almost a decade, but still ... my brother remembers every year. Perhaps that makes sense, since he spent so much more time with her during her life, especially in her final decade. He shouldered her burdens, and watched over her; that has to burn one's love right into the bone. No wonder he doesn't forget.
I'm trying to decide if it's worth putting together at least a superficial review of Power of the Doctor, free of some of the immediate raegOMG that I spewed in my last post. There was, for me, a lot to like about the episode, despite my sorrow at seeing Jodie and Thirteen say goodbye; there were also a few things to roll my eyes at. We shall see.
I'm awaiting our grandson, who we're supposed to babysit tomorrow while Mom and Dad are at a wedding (the final member of Andy's band is finally getting married. I don't know whether Andy's a groomsman, but that's a big possibility.) I've bought fresh fruit and green beans and little carrots, all the kinds of things I think Harlan likes, plus juice with no added sugar. These all meet with his dad's approval, as does the possibility of a PBJ sandwich made with fresh homemade bread. I'm washing livingroom blankets, and trying desperately to remember what it was like to have a 15-month-old kid on my hands. This is ... well, I'm not panicking. Yet. Have I mentioned that Bob was the main caregiver when Andy was a wee tyke? And that I was not Mother of the Year? I probably have. We'll have him for about nine hours, and although Andy confidently says he'll nap 1-2 hours of that, I am laughing silently, because, no, not in a strange place, he won't. Laughing silently is a nice change from screaming silently.
I've put two cranberry-orange loaves into the oven, and I hope to sample the wares later tonight. Right now, tough, it's a nice couple of fingers of Suntory Toki whisky. (Since I don't have a whisky icon, the martini icon is perfectly fine.) It's been a long day.
Oh, and I know what I'm going to write about for NaNoWriMo. I have no outline, no plan, but I know who I'm going to write about. That's better than nothing. Not as good as last year, but still ... I'm using the characters I wrote about in my novella, so I know them, and I know their relationship. I know the difficulty they have with their abilities - yes, magic, but it's pretty ... Chicagoan - and I think I know what they're going to be facing in this novel.
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Good luck with the babysitting!
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